CHAPTER IX
Jennie took the paper with but ill-concealed trembling and wentinto the adjoining room. There she stood by the front window andlooked at it again, a sickening sensation of dread holding her asthough in a trance.
"He is dead," was all that her mind could formulate for the time,and as she stood there the voice of Bass recounting the fact toGerhardt in the adjoining room sounded in her ears. "Yes, he is dead,"she heard him say; and once again she tried to get some conception ofwhat it meant to her. But her mind seemed a blank.
A moment later Mrs. Gerhardt joined her. She had heard Bass'sannouncement and had seen Jennie leave the room, but her trouble withGerhardt over the Senator had caused her to be careful of any displayof emotion. No conception of the real state of affairs ever havingcrossed her mind, she was only interested in seeing how Jennie wouldtake this sudden annihilation of her hopes.
"Isn't it too bad?" she said, with real sorrow. "To think that heshould have to die just when he was going to do so much foryou--for us all."
She paused, expecting some word of agreement, but Jennie remainedunwontedly dumb.
"I wouldn't feel badly," continued Mrs. Gerhardt. "It can't behelped. He meant to do a good deal, but you mustn't think of that now.It's all over, and it can't be helped, you know."
She paused again, and still Jennie remained motionless and mute.Mrs. Gerhardt, seeing how useless her words were, concluded thatJennie wished to be alone, and she went away.
Still Jennie stood there, and now, as the real significance of thenews began to formulate itself into consecutive thought, she began torealize the wretchedness of her position, its helplessness. She wentinto her bedroom and sat down upon the side of the bed, from whichposition she saw a very pale, distraught face staring at her from outof the small mirror. She looked at it uncertainly; could that reallybe her own countenance? "I'll have to go away," she thought, andbegan, with the courage of despair, to wonder what refuge would beopen to her.
In the mean time the evening meal was announced, and, to maintainappearances, she went out and joined the family; the naturalness ofher part was very difficult to sustain. Gerhardt observed her subduedcondition without guessing the depth of emotion which it covered. Basswas too much interested in his own affairs to pay particular attentionto anybody.
During the days that followed Jennie pondered over the difficultiesof her position and wondered what she should do. Money she had, it wastrue; but no friends, no experience, no place to go. She had alwayslived with her family. She began to feel unaccountable sinkings ofspirit, nameless and formless fears seemed to surround and haunt her.Once when she arose in the morning she felt an uncontrollable desireto cry, and frequently thereafter this feeling would seize upon her atthe most inopportune times. Mrs. Gerhardt began to note her moods, andone afternoon she resolved to question her daughter.
"Now you must tell me what's the matter with you," she saidquietly. "Jennie, you must tell your mother everything."
Jennie, to whom confession had seemed impossible, under thesympathetic persistence of her mother broke down at last and made thefatal confession. Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, too dumb with misery togive vent to a word.
"Oh!" she said at last, a great wave of self-accusation sweepingover her, "it is all my fault. I might have known. But we'll do whatwe can." She broke down and sobbed aloud.
After a time she went back to the washing she had to do, and stoodover her tub rubbing and crying. The tears ran down her cheeks anddropped into the suds. Once in a while she stopped and tried to dryher eyes with her apron, but they soon filled again.
Now that the first shock had passed, there came the vividconsciousness of ever-present danger. What would Gerhardt do if helearned the truth? He had often said that if ever one of his daughtersshould act like some of those he knew he would turn her out of doors."She should not stay under my roof!" he had exclaimed.
"I'm so afraid of your father," Mrs. Gerhardt often said to Jenniein this intermediate period. "I don't know what he'll say."
"Perhaps I'd better go away," suggested her daughter.
"No," she said; "he needn't know just yet. Wait awhile." But in herheart of hearts she knew that the evil day could not be longpostponed.
One day, when her own suspense had reached such a pitch that itcould no longer be endured, Mrs. Gerhardt sent Jennie away with thechildren, hoping to be able to tell her husband before they returned.All the morning she fidgeted about, dreading the opportune moment andletting him retire to his slumber without speaking. When afternooncame she did not go out to work, because she could not leave with herpainful duty unfulfilled. Gerhardt arose at four, and still shehesitated, knowing full well that Jennie would soon return and thatthe specially prepared occasion would then be lost. It is almostcertain that she would not have had the courage to say anything if hehimself had not brought up the subject of Jennie's appearance.
"She doesn't look well," he said. "There seems to be something thematter with her."
"Oh," began Mrs. Gerhardt, visibly struggling with her fears, andmoved to make an end of it at any cost, "Jennie is in trouble. I don'tknow what to do. She--"
Gerhardt, who had unscrewed a door-lock and was trying to mend it,looked up sharply from his work.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Mrs. Gerhardt had her apron in her hands at the time, her nervoustendency to roll it coming upon her. She tried to summon sufficientcourage to explain, but fear mastered her completely; she lifted theapron to her eyes and began to cry.
Gerhardt looked at her and rose. He was a man with the Calvin typeof face, rather spare, with skin sallow and discolored as the resultof age and work in the wind and rain. When he was surprised or angrysparks of light glittered in his eyes. He frequently pushed his hairback when he was troubled, and almost invariably walked the floor;just now he looked alert and dangerous.
"What is that you say?" he inquired in German, his voice strainingto a hard note. "In trouble--has some one--" He paused andflung his hand upward. "Why don't you speak?" he demanded.
"I never thought," went on Mrs. Gerhardt, frightened, and yetfollowing her own train of thought, "that anything like that wouldhappen to her. She was such a good girl. Oh!" she concluded, "to thinkhe should ruin Jennie."
"By thunder!" shouted Gerhardt, giving way to a fury of feeling, "Ithought so! Brander! Ha! Your fine man! That comes of letting her gorunning around at nights, buggy-riding, walking the streets. I thoughtso. God in heaven!--"
He broke from his dramatic attitude and struck out in a fiercestride across the narrow chamber, turning like a caged animal.
"Ruined!" he exclaimed. "Ruined! Ha! So he has ruined her, hashe?"
Suddenly he stopped like an image jerked by a string. He wasdirectly in front of Mrs. Gerhardt, who had retired to the table atthe side of the wall, and was standing there pale with fear.
"He is dead now!" he shouted, as if this fact had now firstoccurred to him. "He is dead!"
He put both hands to his temples, as if he feared his brain wouldgive way, and stood looking at her, the mocking irony of the situationseeming to burn in his brain like fire.
"Dead!" he repeated, and Mrs. Gerhardt, fearing for the reason ofthe man, shrank still farther away, her wits taken up rather with thetragedy of the figure he presented than with the actual substance ofhis woe.
"He intended to marry her," she pleaded nervously. "He would havemarried her if he had not died."
"Would have!" shouted Gerhardt, coming out of his trance at thesound of her voice. "Would have! That's a fine thing to talk aboutnow. Would have! The hound! May his soul burn in hell--the dog!Ah, God, I hope--I hope--If I were not a Christian--" He clenchedhis hands, the awfulness of his passion shaking him like a leaf.
Mrs. Gerhardt burst into tears, and her husband turned away, hisown feelings far too intense for him to have any sympathy with her. Hewalked to and fro, his heavy step shaking the kitchen floor. After atime he came back, a new phase of the dread calamity having o
ffereditself to his mind.
"When did this happen?" he demanded
"I don't know," returned Mrs. Gerhardt, too terror-stricken to tellthe truth. "I only found it out the other day."
"You lie!" he exclaimed in his excitement. "You were alwaysshielding her. It is your fault that she is where she is. If you hadlet me have my way there would have been no cause for our troubleto-night.
"A fine ending," he went on to himself. "A fine ending. My boy getsinto jail; my daughter walks the streets and gets herself talkedabout; the neighbors come to me with open remarks about my children;and now this scoundrel ruins her. By the God in heaven, I don't knowwhat has got into my children!
"I don't know how it is," he went on, unconsciously commiseratinghimself. "I try, I try! Every night I pray that the Lord will let medo right, but it is no use. I might work and work. My hands--lookat them--are rough with work. All my life I have tried to be anhonest man. Now--now--" His voice broke, and it seemed for amoment as if he would give way to tears. Suddenly he turned on hiswife, the major passion of anger possessing him.
"You are the cause of this," he exclaimed. "You are the sole cause.If you had done as I told you to do this would not have happened. No,you wouldn't do that. She must go out! out!! out!!! She has become astreet-walker, that's what she has become. She has set herself rightto go to hell. Let her go. I wash my hands of the whole thing. This isenough for me."
He made as if to go off to his little bedroom, but he had no soonerreached the door than he came back.
"She shall get out!" he said electrically. "She shall not stayunder my roof! To-night! At once! I will not let her enter my dooragain. I will show her whether she will disgrace me or not!"
"You mustn't turn her out on the streets to-night," pleaded Mrs.Gerhardt. "She has no place to go."
"To-night!" he repeated. "This very minute! Let her find a home.She did not want this one. Let her get out now. We will see how theworld treats her." He walked out of the room, inflexible resolutionfixed upon his rugged features.
At half-past five, when Mrs. Gerhardt was tearfully going about theduty of getting supper, Jennie returned. Her mother started when sheheard the door open, for now she knew the storm would burst afresh.Her father met her on the threshold.
"Get out of my sight!" he said savagely. "You shall not stayanother hour in my house. I don't want to see you any more. Getout!"
Jennie stood before him, pale, trembling a little, and silent. Thechildren she had brought home with her crowded about in frightenedamazement. Veronica and Martha, who loved her dearly, began tocry.
"What's the matter?" George asked, his mouth open in wonder.
"She shall get out," reiterated Gerhardt. "I don't want her undermy roof. If she wants to be a street-walker, let her be one, but sheshall not stay here. Pack your things," he added, staring at her.
Jennie had no word to say, but the children cried loudly.
"Be still," said Gerhardt. "Go into the kitchen."
He drove them all out and followed stubbornly himself.
Jennie went quietly to her room. She gathered up her few littlebelongings and began, with tears, to put them into a valise her motherbrought her. The little girlish trinkets that she had accumulated fromtime to time she did not take. She saw them, but thought of heryounger sisters, and let them stay. Martha and Veronica would haveassisted her, but their father forbade them to go.
At six o'clock Bass came in, and seeing the nervous assembly in thekitchen, inquired what the trouble was.
Gerhardt looked at him grimly, but did not answer.
"What's the trouble?" insisted Bass. "What are you all sittingaround for?"
"He is driving Jennie away," whispered Mrs. Gerhardt tearfully.
"What for?" asked Bass, opening his eyes in astonishment.
"I shall tell you what for," broke in Gerhardt, still speaking inGerman. "Because she's a street-walker, that's what for. She goes andgets herself ruined by a man thirty years older than she is, a man oldenough to be her father. Let her get out of this. She shall not stayhere another minute."
Bass looked about him, and the children opened their eyes. All feltclearly that something terrible had happened, even the little ones.None but Bass understood.
"What do you want to send her out to-night for?" he inquired. "Thisis no time to send a girl out on the streets. Can't she stay hereuntil morning?"
"No," said Gerhardt.
"He oughtn't to do that," put in the mother.
"She goes now," said Gerhardt. "Let that be an end of it."
"Where is she going to go?" insisted Bass.
"I don't know," Mrs. Gerhardt interpolated weakly.
Bass looked around, but did nothing until Mrs. Gerhardt motionedhim toward the front door when her husband was not looking.
"Go in! Go in!" was the import of her gesture.
Bass went in, and then Mrs. Gerhardt dared to leave her work andfollow. The children stayed awhile, but, one by one, even they slippedaway, leaving Gerhardt alone. When he thought that time enough hadelapsed he arose.
In the interval Jennie had been hastily coached by her mother.
Jennie should go to a private boarding-house somewhere, and sendback her address. Bass should not accompany her, but she should wait alittle way up the street, and he would follow. When her father wasaway the mother might get to see her, or Jennie could come home. Allelse must be postponed until they could meet again.
While the discussion was still going on, Gerhardt came in.
"Is she going?" he asked harshly.
"Yes," answered Mrs. Gerhardt, with her first and only note ofdefiance.
Bass said, "What's the hurry?" But Gerhardt frowned too mightilyfor him to venture on any further remonstrance.
Jennie entered, wearing her one good dress and carrying her valise.There was fear in her eyes, for she was passing through a fieryordeal, but she had become a woman. The strength of love was with her,the support of patience and the ruling sweetness of sacrifice.Silently she kissed her mother, while tears fell fast. Then sheturned, and the door closed upon her as she went forth to a newlife.